Picture Book
by CountDimentio
Summary: England finds an old picture book him and America had put together. After an incident with a kitchen knife, France decides to try to make Arthur forget about the american. UsxUK FrUK Warning: Rape, swearing, blood and SMEXY SMEXY YAOI
1. The Picture Book

**_EDIT:_** Thanks for the reveiw! lol I was in such a mood that I forgot how to spell! Well, I've changed the udders to utters! MOO BITCHES! MOO!

_Rain came in sheets over the not so barren field..._

Soldiers behind him, guns raised in a neat line. A soaked uniform, staring straight ahead.

Another stood before him, no one to defend him. All alone, in a dripping uniform, he was chilled to the bone. Shivering in the icy rain, he stepped forward.

"Damnit America!"

A picture album layed on his lap, his finger gently flipping the plastic pages. Emerald eyes glazed over with what seemed to be regret as they scanned the treasures withen.

A blue-eyed child, blessed with a peraly white grin, gleamed on the page. His arm was wrapped around another blonde, whom had the sweetest smile upon his face. Both looked at eachother, such love in their eyes.

The green-eyed one sighed and flipped the page, only to see more heartbreaking photos.

The blue-eyed child was grown up, clad in a new tux, and had a small frown on his face, as if he didn't approve of the clothing. He was looking in a mirror, with a glint of annoyance in his eyes.

In another, the blue-eyed child had his arms around the blonde again, a more loving smile on his face. The blonde snuggled up against him, eyes closed and smile sweet. Both of them seemed to be sleeping on one another. Both of them seemed to like it...

The green-eyed one could take no more. He slammed the book shut and stood, letting it fall to the floor. The house seemed to shake as he fled from the room, tears in his eyes. He stopped in the kitchen, running a hand through his blonde hair, and jerked open the utensil drawer. He grabbed the largest kitchen knife he could fine and pressed it against his bare arm.

_He fled from you..._

Aah...

_He ran away, claiming he was independant..._

Aaah! ...

_He took your love and threw it away. _

Nnggh... Aah...

_Threw it in your face! He didn't deserve it..._

... Nnnn...

_Ran off without a word... And now look at you..._

Sss! Aaah! ...

_Sobbing like a baby, all because he never loved you..._

Nnggh, aaaah!!

_Now he tries to reach to you, yet you push him away..._

Aaagh! Nnn...

_You're afraid he'll hurt you again..._

Aaah! AAAaaah!

_So you push him away, hurting him in the process..._

**AAAAAAAAAH!**

The knife clattered to the floor, blood following it.

England dropped to the floor, clutching his bleeding arm and sobbing. A barely audible 'Alfred' passed his lips, as if calling for the other country.

_**Maybe you never deserved his love in the first place...**_


	2. When I Die

_In a flash, the loner ran to the blue-eyed one, grabbing his gun. He quickly wrestled it from him, aiming it and stepping back._

The blue eyed one froze, the soldiers behind him getting very agitated.

"England..."

The loner froze, finger pressing on the trigger.

France knocked on England's door, expecting a 'GET THE FUCK OUT' from withen. Surprizingly, no one uttered a word. Confused, he opened the door a crack and peaked withen.

No one.

The door swung open and he stepped inside, looking around. Possessions were scattered about, which was very unlike England. The couch cushons were a haphazard mess and blood stains littered the carpet. The blood factor got France nervous and he figeted, glancing around the room. Rushing into the kitchen, he found a huge kitchen knife, a puddle of blood and...

_Oh my god..._

England laid on the linoliem, still clutching his bleeding arm.

"ENGLAND!" France cried, dropping to his knees before the other contry. He gathered the frail being into his arms, whom was shiving from blood loss. Francis dug his face into Arthur's blood drenched hair, tkaing in the metalic scent. Tears poured from his eyes when he relized that England had brought this upon himself.

Arthur looked up at France blankly, unable to speak. His eyes struggled to stay open and his head rolled back, obviously exhausted. Francis lifted England into his arms and stood, rushing into the bathroom. Pushing England into a lone chair, the french rushed through the medicine cabnet, grabbing a roll of gauze. He turned his attention to the Brit, who'd let his arm roll onto his lap, revieling a nasty cut half an inch deep.

France bit his lip so hard it too bled, tears still streaming down his face. He grabbed England's wounded arm and wrapped the gauze semi-tightly around it, covering the cut. Arthur let out a small whimper of pain, causing France's heart to ache. Francis held the Brit close, kissing his bloody forehead gently. England let out another pitiful whimper, as if to say 'I'm sorry'. Still, despite the apolegy, the french sobbed.

"What the hell was that about, England!?" France finnaly said after a bit. Arthur looked at the ground, ignoring the reddening gauze. Blue, teary eyes closed. "Whatever it is, you can tell me..." The silence after that sentance were moments of agonizing pain for the Brit. "Alfred..." A barely audible whisper passed England's lips, followed by a whimper of pain as his nerves finnaly got enough blood to relize the extent of the damage. France's eyes opened, teary but not streaming. "The picture book..." the french thought aloud. "You still have it?" Arthur nodded and Francis sighed. "I knew that book would be nothing but bad luck..." England held his tounge, for surely it'd utter nothing but nasty things.

"Please stop thinking of him, Igirisu..." France seemed to plead, gently kissing the Brit's forehead over and over. "All he's going to do is hurt you..." England glanced up at France, tears coming to his emerald eyes. "I know you miss him. I know you love him. When are you going to relize that he doesn't love you?" More silence.

**"When I die..."**


	3. Alfred

_The lone one felt tears come to his eyes and he froze. His finger slid from the trigger, the gun lowering. The blue-eyed one took a step closer, eyes filled with simpathy. Soaked blonde hair and teary emerald eyes, the loner felt tears flow down his face._

"Baka...

You know...

I could never shoot..."

He dropped to his knees, the gun falling from his hands, and began to sob. Auzre eyes were locked upon him and became watery as well. However, the tears were wiped away and the soldiers calmed. The blue-eyed one turned and began to walk off. Emerald eyes looked up, locked upon the one he'd almost shot.

"America..."

The soldiers turned, seeming to swallow up Alfred, and the blonde got to his feet. reaching out, he stumbled toward those blue eyes.

_**ALFRED!**___

The voice seemed so far away...

_**WAIT! PLEASE!!**___

Yet it was himself...

_**DON'T GO!!!**___

Screaming...

_**ALFREEEEEEEEEEEEED!**___

Yearning...

Arthur sat on the deck of France's house, arm still bandaged heavily in gauze. Only a few days after the knife incident and he was already put under a form of house arrest. Well, not exactly house arrest, but France never let him leave the house or even step into the kitchen alone. Anywhere he went, the other country was by his side. Except for now...

France was inside, making dinner, while he sat out on the porch. Every once in a while, the french man would glance outside to make sure his britian was alright. England always nodded when France asked, smiling with fake happiness, but, inside, he was torn up. The same dream every night. A reacorance of the American Revolution. America would be there, demanding independance. England would refuse him and run at him, rendering him unarmed. As always, he'd aim. He'd press the trigger. He'd press so hard that it hurt. That fucking thing seemed to be made of steel. He'd never be able to shoot. Only aim. Only press.

_Baka._

England glanced into the kitchen, noticing that France had gone to get something from the basement. Now was the time.

He stood, walking off the porch, and pulled on his jacket. He glanced behind him before running off the property.

Arthur took to walking through the park. The city was too big and noisy. He needed time to think. Sitting on a nearby bench, he watched a young man and woman walk by. Talking. Flirting. Not knowing which one shall break the other's heart. England scowled. The young were so oblivious to heartbreak. So oblivious to how easy it was to hurt someone. How much it could hurt someone...

He looked up and took to watching the birds instead. Flying from tree to tree. Nesting with their mates. Preening one another. Rubbing against eachother. Cuddling with eachother. The britian grit his teeth, letting out a low growl. Was everything going to remind him of America!!! Bloody hell!!!

Just then, he felt a presense he hadn't felt for some time. He looked to the right and his eyes widen, a sweet smile spreading across his face.

_"Alfred"_


	4. More Like Never

_The pain of the day never went away..._

It's been with him always...

The day America became a nation...

The day a hero was born...

The day England's heart broke in two...

_**The day neither would ever forget**_

Alfred smiled and sat down next to Arthur. "How ya doin'?" he asked cheerfully. The much older nation leaned back, looking up at the birds again. "Not too bad..." he lied. America seemed to figet and looked at Arthur's wounded arm, though you couldn't tell something was wrong with it with it covered by the jacket. England looked over at him. "What's wrong?" Birds chirped in the backround, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the two.

**"France told me about you're arm... How you... you know..."**

England froze, his eyes becoming saucers. Had France told him why he did it? What he was thinking about at the time? The fact that he still had the picture book?

_Just how much did that basturd tell him???_

America looked into England's eyes, taking his hand. "Why did you do it? What was so bad that you tried to kill yourself?!" he asked with so much care for the other nation. Arthur remained frozen, hesitant to talk. So France hadn't told him why... One less of a beating he'd have to give him, then.

"Please, tell me, England! What was it that drove you to such extremes?!"

England was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost forgot America was there. Coming to his senses, the older country stared at the ground and tried to calm his nerves. Just how could he lie to America... _No... I can't lie to him_ Arthur thought. _That'd be impossible. He'd pick up on it right away..._

"Well... Do you remember that picture book we made back when you were a colony..." America's face lit up, as if the making of the book was just yesturday. "Well, of course! How could I forget something so valuable?" he said, grinning. The reaction set England's nrves at ease. _Maybe this'll be easy to say after all..._ "I still ha-" **"ARTHUR KIRKLAND!"**

The two countries looked to their left to see Francis storming down the path. England bit his lip, his eyes widening. He knew France would find him sooner or later... but he definatly didn't think he'd find him THIS soon. And with America by his side. This was NOT going to turn out well...

France stood before England, in all his hautiness, enveloping in a worried rage. "Just what do you think your doing, sneaking out like that!" the french man scolded, grabbing England's good arm and pulling him to his feet. An appalled America did the smart thing and stayed out of their bickering, atempting to sneak away. **"AND YOU.** Trying to get information out of England when I told you precisly what happened! You know how depressive he gets when drunk! I told you so! It was the alchohal's influance, not whatever you might be thinking!" America cringed at the anger in France's voice. Or was it worry?

"That's it, you're never leaving my sight til that arm of yours is perfectly healed!!" Francis growled, dragging England off. Arthur glanced behind him soon enough to see America wave goodbye. "I'll see you in a few months then, Arthur!" France scowled and shot an angry look at Alfred.

**"MORE LIKE NEVER!"**


	5. Compliment

_Thoughts full of regret..._

Warning blue eyed glares...

Yearning green eyed stares...

Every moment after the American Revolution were moments of torture for him...

Every look at Alfred made his heart ache...

Every thought of him squeezed out a single tear...

Those thoughts, those moments, those looks...

Made him wish that everything was back the way it was before...

Both of them...

Together...

**Always...  
**

A lump remained in Arthur's throat as he sat at the dining table, still nervous from the Alfred ordeal. France was in the kitchen, preparing their plates. A sprinkle of basil here... A pinch of salt... England smiled as the scent of the food reached his nose. Whatever the man had cooked, it made his stomach growl and his mouth water.

The french man walked in the room, carrying two plates of Basil Cream Chicken. He placed one in front of Arthur and one near him, pulling up a chair and sitting down. Still with a face of slight worried anger, France raised his glass of Bordeaux.

"Bon appétit." England slightly smiled and raised his half-full glass. A tiny clink filled the room and they proceded to stuff their faces.

A bit later and they'd cleared their plates, the wine bottle almost empty as well. Sinking a bit into his chair and with his arm slung over the top of it, Arthur was definatly not sober at the moment.

"So, you have reoccuring dreams about the American Revolution??" France said, as if to comfirm that he heard right. England nodded, taking a sip from his glass. "Yeah. Every single bloody night..." he droned, looking out the window. The sun was gone, leaving an orange sunset behind.

"I don't know why... Itslike my mind WANTS me to remember him..." Slurring 'it's' and 'like', the britian finished off his glass and poured some more Bordeaux into it. France frowned a bit as Arthur downed half the glass in one shot.

"Sounds like you still haven't gotten over it yet..." the french man said. "Maybe you need to spend some time with someone else to suggest your mind to get off that topic." England looked up at him, suspicious. "And jus' who might you be suggestin' I spend time with..." he asked with a raised eyebrow. France shurgged and took a sip of his wine. "No one in paticular." came the gentle answer.

England leaned forward, smirking a bit. "You're suggestin' I stay around you 'til I ferget about him?" he asked, screwing up vowels in his drunkness. France smirked slightly. "I didn't say that... I just think you need some time away form him."

"Which means more time with you."

"No! Just some time to forget him!"

"But who else would hang with? It's not like all of Europe likes me..."

France sighed, defeated. A drunken grin spread across Englands face. "Ha! I knew it!" he chuckled a bit, downing the rest of his glass. "Although, itsnot like I'd mind... I mus' admit, you don't get NEARLY as annoying as Alfred can get..." England's words slurred and mixed, making it almost sound like he was speaking another language. Francis looked over at him, smiling.

**"I'll take that as a compliment..."**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

I hope you all like this so far! I'm having quite a fun time writing it! In this chapter, I actually went to Google and searched for French recipes... The one that I found (Basil Cream Chicken)... well... let's say my keyboard was covered in droll after seeing the picture... And yes, Bordeaux is a real wine. Said food France cooked is a real recipe.


	6. Sleep Tight

_The same dream..._

_A pointing gun..._

_Glinting metal..._

_Teary eyes..._

_Yet, it was different somehow. England finger pressed harder on the trigger. He knew he couldn't press it. Yet, the suspense of the scene still pulsed adrenilene through his body. It was as if there was an unsuspecting twist right around the corner... Something he couldn't anticipate..._

_He parted his lips slightly, about to say 'Baka...', when the unthinkable happened. It put both countries in a state of shock._

_Arthur's finger pressed harder on the trigger._

**_And fired._**

_All the breath left his lungs as he saw a blotch of red blooming on Alfred's uniform. He dropped the gun in shock, stepping back. Tears began to flow from his eyes and the other country fell to the ground. Soldiers swarmed around Alfred and there was a breif moment of silence._

_'Please be alive..' Arthur whispered to himself._

_'Please tell me I missed...'_

**_'Please...'_**

_A soldier, apparently a close friend of Alfred's, then let out a howl of rage. "**DAMNIT!!** HE'S DEAD!" The soldier aimed his gun at England, running toward him. "YOU BASTAAAAARD!" Arthur caught a glimpse of the limp Alfred, whom was gushing blood, just before the soldier's bayonet pierced his chest._

_But there was no pain..._

_Nothing..._

_At all..._

England screamed himself awake, lurching up to a sitting position in his bed. Fresh tears flowed from his eyes and he found that he was shaking. The light flicked on and he saw France standing at the bedroom doorway. The french man rushed over to the sobbing England and, sitting on the side of the bed, held him in his arms. "Ssshh... Don't cry... It's alright..." he seemed to coo, trying to calm the shaking britian.

"It w-was the d-dream again..." England said between sobs. Francis ran his fingers through the englishman's hair, gently kissing his forehead. A frown formed on his face as Arthur described the dream. He held him harder, wondering how the "annoying" country could bring him to tears like these.

"You know what..." England looked up at France, sniffling. "What..." The frenchman climbed over onto the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers, pulling Arthur into another embrace. "I'll sleep here, that way I won't have to come running every time you have a bad dream..." The britian smlied and cuddled up next to Francis, starting to calm down.

France snapped his fingers and the lights went out automaticly. A tiny giggle was heard from England. "What?" the frenchman asked. "Those kind of lights are so cool..."

Francis smiled and held Arthur close, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I know..."

**"Sleep tight... Don't let the Alfred's bite..."**


	7. Not Lucky Enough

_He slipped in and out of Dream Land..._

_But, every time he slipped in..._

_He'd see those blonde curls..._

_Those blue eyes..._

_That caring smile..._

_At first he thought it was America..._

_But a closer look revealed that it wasn't..._

_**"Francis..."**_

Another World Meeting.

Oh boy.

England sat next to France for once and slowly sipped his tea, looking around the table at the other countries. America hadn't arrived yet, so the meeting hadn't started yet. The two European countries were dead quiet, just wanting to get through this meeting and go home. Arthur killed the time by watching the other countries.

Italy was chatting with Japan, hands waving about in the stereotypical Italian way. Russia seemed to be making fun of Latvia, poking at the timid country and taking joy in watching his terrified expression. Greece, as usual, was taking a nap, slumped in his chair and covered with kittens. Germany was organizing some papers, apparently part of a speech he was going to make.

The doors then burst open. "The hero has arrived!"

**Alfred...**

England seemed to sigh and set his tea down, looking over at the younger country. What he expected to see was a fur-lined bomber jacket with a big 50 on the back. What he saw was something entirely different.

Alfred walked casually into the room wearing the old tux Arthur had given him. He adjusted his tie and winked at the appalled France and dumbfounded England. "Mornin', Arthur!" he said with a cheeky smile.

The other countries seemed as shocked to see Alfred in a monkey suit. Russia had ceased his teasing and stared at America, his jaw practically hitting the table. Germany dropped his papers that he'd just finished organizing, cursing to himself as he picked them all up. Italy, for once in a long time, was dead silent and blinked with shock at the strange attire.

England was frozen, for the suit brought back many unwanted memories. He felt tears prick in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away.

"What? You're all acting as if I walked in the room naked or something!" America chuckled and the other countries began to settle. Arthur looked away, getting tense. Why had Alfred worn the suit? Was it to induce more guilt filled nightmares? Had the man known why he'd cut himself all this time and wished to tease him for it?

France then nudged him hard. He looked over at the other country. "What?" he whispered, as to not interrupt Alfred's speech on Global Warming. France tried to look interested in what the American had to say. "You're crying again..." England touched his face to find it sopping wet. He grabbed a tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears away, hoping no one had seen it as well.

Turning his attention to Alfred, Arthur tried to get through the meeting...

By 8:15 pm, the meeting came to an end. Surprisingly, not one argument broke out between France, England and America. Throughout the meeting, however, France had been giving America a death glare. Alfred seemed to gratefully return said glare.

Arthur stood once he felt the tears again. He quickly left the room, ignoring the questioning glances from Russia. Making sure no one followed him; UK ran down the hall, tears flooding his eyes. There was only one certain way to get Alfred off his mind...

He ran into the bathroom and took out a small pocketknife. Not as big as the knife he'd used before, but it was good enough. He dug the small blade into his wrist and sliced the soft flesh, pouring blood into the sink below. Tears came out faster and his sobs filled the room. Arthur's knees shook violently and he fell to the floor. He heard a small whimper in the corner of the room and looked up, frozen in place.

_Canada_

The blonde stared down at the bleeding England, obviously terrified. "Matthew..." UK choked up, still in shock. He grabbed the bloody pocketknife, which was lying on the floor, and put it away, standing on shaky legs. "Please, whatever you do, **don't tell Francis**..." The demand was more like a plea. _"Please."_

With that, England ran from the room, leaving behind a confused and terrified Canada.

France confronted America outside the meeting room, almost right after England had run out. "So, what's up with the monkey suit, Alfred." the Frenchman hissed. America seemed to flinch, but glared at the European country. "FYI, it's not just ANY monkey suit. England gave this to me when I was still a colony..." he hissed back with venom. "All my other clothes were dirty, so I thought I could wear this...

Unless it offends you..."

France rolled his eyes. "Complete and utter bullshit." he growled. "If you want to make Arthur miserable and bring back more memories, then just tell me. Don't lie..." America raised an eyebrow. "Whatever do you mean?" The Frenchman seemed to sigh.

"If you haven't noticed, it was because of you that England's depressed. Everything he does depends on you. His thoughts. His words. Hell, even his dreams! They all contain you. Now you come in wearing that-" France scoffed at how dusty and faded the suit was"-attire and some freshly depressing memories are stirred up in poor Arthur's mind." America hesitated. "He'll forget them, right?"

"His way of forgetting you is much different then you think it is, Alfred..."

The American bit his lip, hoping it wasn't what he was guessing. "W-What does he do?"

"What he did to his arm, that's what. If we're lucky, he hasn't gotten so far as to bleed himself unconscious by no-" Matthew then came bounding down the hall, his precious polar bear in his arms.

"FRANCIS! ALFRED!" he yelled out with apparent fear. "What is it, bro?" America asked once Canada had reached them. Matthew, who was struggling for breath, leaned on Alfred for support. "It's England!" A look of fear and worried rage crossed France's face.

"I found him cutting in the bathroom! I don't know where he went, but he ran out when he found out I was there! There was so much b-blood..." Canada's hand began to shake and he looked like he was about the throw up.

France and America froze, sharing one another's gaze.

**"Looks like we weren't lucky enough..."**

**--------------------------------------------------------------**

Another angsty chapter! If I fucked up with spelling, let me know! Don't forget to R & R!!!!


	8. Like Me

France and America barreled down the hallway, having left poor Canada behind. They stopped at the Men's bathroom, seeming terrified of what lay beyond. America gently pushed the door open and glanced inside. The sight of a puddle of deep red blood slowly crawling across the floor to the drain made him cringe. France caught a look at the puddle and bit his lip, rushing forward.

"Alfred, go search the halls again. I'm going to go look for him." he said, heading for the main door of the building. America leapt over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and halting him. "And just where might you look?!" France turned to him, a scowl upon his face. "Why should you care?!" He jerked out of his grasp, hand already on the door knob. There was a pause, however. "No one knows the streets of Paris better than me... I'll find him..."

**"You better..."**

England ran down a dark and drery alley in the heart of Paris, no more than 3 blocks away from the meeting building. Clutching his bleeding wrist, his knees finnaly buckled on him and he fell to the ground, splashing in a puddle of dirty water. The water was soon dyed a deep red for his clothes were soaked with blood. He tried to push himself to his feet, but failed miserably. Slow footsteps echoed down the alley, signaling danger, but Arthur didn't seem to care. Pain flowing through him, his mind became numb. Perhaps he'd cut too much. Too deep. Perhaps he'd hit a vein. His eyes struggled to stay open as a group of five surrounded him...

Speaking in rapid French, the tallest one, whom was a mere sillohete, circled England, seeming to study him. The group let out a low chuckle as the tall one wrenched poor Arthur to his knees. The britian let out a small moan of pain as he was lifted in the air by his collar. He feebley clawed at the tall one's hands, having lost way too much blood. Before he knew it, he was pressed into a wall, pockets ravaged of everything he'd had on him. Arthur felt the large hands that were once at his throat reach down for the buttons of his clothes, gently undoing them...

Coming to his senses, England's eyes went wide with shock and fear as he was suddenly rendered shirtless. He let out a shrill scream and thrashed about, pushing away. A few of the others in the group held him down. One even covered his mouth to muffle his screams. He tried kicking at them, but their legs seemed to be made of steel. Cackling now, the tall one yanked off the poor britian's pants. There was a moment of silence as all seemed to stare at the boxers printed with the British flag. The entire group then bursted into laughter. "Foolish britian..." the tall one sneered, his speach heavy with a French accent. "One should know not to wander the streets of Paris alone!" The next part was something Arthur wished to forget...

Thrown into a world of more pain than he could imagene, the poor thing let out a pitful wail as the most vital of his regions were ravaged. While he was emotional scarring, the group around England seemed to be having a ball. Especially the tall one...

The group finnaly seemed to be done with him, leaving the poor England to shiver, naked, upon the ground. Cackling as he walked away, the tall one shot a sly glance at Arthur... Just before he was wacked upside the head with a lead pipe.

The entire scene was blurred and all the britian could do was lift his head and watch, physically exhausted. He caught glimpses of someone who was different from the others. Dusty blonde hair. Violet eyes. A long, trailing scarf. Whoever it was, they were kicking some major ass. The entire was down in 13 seconds flat. Now it was the frenchy's turn to moan in pain upon the ground. Arthur saw his savior run to him and help him pull up his british underpants, which were hanging onto his ankles. Those violet eyes looked down upon him with pity, holding him close with care. The scene then got blurry and the britian looked down at his bloody wrist. His wounds were finally clotting, but that didn't deny the fact that he'd lost WAY too much blood. He looked back up at his savior, getting dizzy, and noticed something watery conjure in the other's eyes.

_"You're alright, da??"_

Was the last thing he heard before he passed out...

Arthur woke up in a nice warm bed with sun shining in his face, which was the exact oppisate of where he was the night before. He groaned and rolled over onto his side to find himself face first with someone's leg. A slightly bare leg to be exact.

He jumped a bit, looking up. There sat Russia, looking down at him with concern. A smile spread across Ivan's face, however. "Thank god... I thought you were never gonna wake up..." he sighed, leaning down and gently kissing England's forehead. "You had me worried." The britian then relized that Russia had only a nightgown on, one with a sunflower pattern on it.

The taller one stood and left the room for a second, returning with a wet facecloth, medical tape, gauze and a suspicious salve. He kneeled down before the bed and organized the items before looking back up at England, whom was very confused to why the russian was being so nice to him. "Hold out your arm, please..." England quickly obeyed, not wanting to get on the other's bad side, and pushed his arm out from under the covers. Russia chuckled a bit. "The other one."

Arthur was surprized to see that his left wrist, the wounded one, was covered with gauze. The russian gently took the wounded wrist in his much larger hands and peeled off the gauze. A huge, disgusting scab was latched to England's wrist and Russia gently wiped it with the facecloth. The britian's face contorted with pain as soon as the warm cloth touched his wound. Ivan stopped immediatly.

"S-Sorry, Arthur! I don't want to hurt you but..."

"I know... J-Just get it over with..."

Ivan slightly smiled and tried his best to clean the wound quickly. He then took the beeswax-colored salve and scooped some into his own fingers, spreading it gently onto Arthur's wound. Next came the gauze. Placing it over the wound for protection and to absorb any remaining blood, Ivan secured the gauze with the medical tape. There was sudden movement in the corner of the russian's eye and he turned to his left, only to see Lithuania standing the the threshold.

The smaller country let out a tiny yelp and jumped back a bit, relizing that he was no longer unnoticed. "S-Sorry, Russia! I- um.. I was just- well... Curiosity and... well..." All Ivan did was smile. "It's alright." Something similar to a low growl then filled the room, causing Ivan and Toris to turn to England, whom was the source of the noise. His unwounded arm was latched onto his stomach and he groaned slightly. "Foooood...." he moaned. Russia giggled a bit. "Lithuania, could you bring our guest some lunch?" The shivered nation obliged, bowing. "Right away!"

Arthur looked up at Ivan with a questioning look. "Lunch?" The russian smiled. "It's 2:45 pm, believe it or not..." England seemed surprized and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He then froze, his face contorted in pain and hands pressed between his legs. "Still sore..?" Russia rose only to sit on the bed beside him. "Y-Yeah..." England choked up. The russian pulled him into a hug, startling the poor britian. Arthur felt him shake and looked over to see the, emotionally, iron-skinned country sobbing.

"I'm s-sorry I didn't come in earlier... I could hear you screaming across the block and I just... I just... It seemed like forever to get to you... I feel so guilty that I c-couldn't get there s-sooner..." The sobs caused him to studder slightly, making him sound even more pitiful. "Ivan... Please don't cry..." England now held him, trying to calm him down.

"If I'd only gotten to you sooner! They wouldn't have hurt you! After I beat them... and I s-saw you laying there... It reminded me of... of..."

"Of who?"

The russian looked up into England's emerald eyes, his own violet ones filled with tears. "You won't tell anyone, da? Especially not Raivis and Toris..." Arthur nodded, smiling. Ivan looked down, digging his face into the britian's bare shoulder and sobbing somemore. "It reminded me of..." Still, he seemed hesitant to tell, as if he didn't trust the other. "...Of myself... back when I was small and weak... Back when General Winter hurt more than he helped..." he slightly chuckled, sniffling. "Sure, he still hurts now... but the only person that could be affected by his cold rage was me... I was so v-vunerable..." There was then the shuffling of feet.

Ivan wiped around toward the threshold, startled and still with teary eyes. There stood Lituania with a plate of Didžkukuliai, obviously confused to why the russian was crying. Russia stood, wiping his tears off onto his nightgown's sleeve. "I-I'm going to go get d-dressed now..." he said before he left the room...

**"Where is he?"** Russia led France down the hall, scarf swaying slightly. "He's right down here. Don't worry, I took good care of him. Da, Latvia?" he said as they passed Raivis. The tiny nation shivered slightly. "Y-Yes! Of course you did!" The two of them finally got to England's room. The britian had apparently liked Toris's cooking, for the empty plate was placed on the bedside table, and seemed to be taking a small nap. Curled up in the windy covers, Arthur slept peacefully, an angelic look on his face. Franciz smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers gently through his love's hair. "There you are..." he whispered, his voice lavished with love and care.

"Where'd you find him, anyway?" This comment made Russia slightly tense, not liking that particular topic.

"I-In an alley about five blocks away from the meeting building..."

"The state he was in?"

"W-Well... bloody but, other than that, fine..." Francis looked up at Ivan, frowning.

"No one could simply run through the streets of Paris alone and end up 'bloody but fine'... Seriously, Ivan... What state did you find him in..." Russia froze at the use of his real name, shocked at how quickly the french could've picked up on his little lie. He sighed and leaned on the threshold. "Promise you won't yell at me..." He seemed to plead, biting his lip a bit. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Just promise..."

France sighed. "Fine, I promise I won't yell at you..." Russia looked down at the Frenchman.

"When I found him, he'd been... raped... by a gang of drunks..." The look on Francis's face must've been terrifying for Russia stepped back a bit, ready to defend himself.

"THEY'D WHAT."

"I'm sorry! I tried to get there sooner! I was just as angry as you!"

**"THEY'D WHAT."**

"France, please don't freak out! You said you wouldn't yell!" The russian looked more vunerable and pitiful than ever, hands together and eyes pricked with tears. "Will you ever forgive me for not getting there sooner... Will you? _Please?" _

The Frenchman seemed to have come to his senses, for his terrifying expression went away. "I'm sorry, Ivan... I just... You know..." The russian relaxed, stepping forward again. "Freaked out... I understand..." The was a moment of silence as France eyed Arthur's vital regions and wondered exactly what had the gang done to them. "Will you do just one thing for me..?" Francis looked up. "What is it." Ivan looked a bit depressive. "Please, what ever you do, don't let Arthur get as big as me... Never let him get so powerful that everyone around him cringes with fear... But don't let him get too small... Never let him get so weak that even people like Italy could step all over him..." Russia stood tall, sorrow still in his eyes.

"Look at me, for example. England was shivering with fear when I was saving him..." He looked away. "That's not good at all for self esteem, I'll tell you that much..." Ivan turned, about to leave. "So, please do me a favor. You can do what ever you want with him. Love him. Hurt him. Treat him like a god. I might not like it, but I'll deal as long as you do this one thing." Francis nodded.

_**"Please don't let him get like me..."**_

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Author's Notes:

I was listening to Behind Blue Eyes by Limp Bizkit for inspiration while writing this you knows... And know I'm listening to Sexy Bitch by David Guetta! 8D Such a small range of music, dontcha think? XD

Anyway, I actually had to research for this one... Didžkukuliai, aka Cepelinai, is a real Lithuanian dish. They are a type of dumpling made from grated tatterz and usually stuffed with minced meat, although sometimes dry cottage cheese or shrooms are used instead. They actually look pretty good! Go look for it on Wikipedia! NOW! Wait... R&R first!


	9. And Another

_Horrid things..._

_Horrid dreams... _

_I tried to push away..._

_A shril scream..._

_A pitiful wail..._

_The pain..._

_The blood..._

_Those violet eyes..._

_My savior..._

_Voices..._

_Loud..._

_Soft..._

_"Don't let him get like me..."_

_Then a blue eyed child..._

_Blonde locks..._

_Now a man..._

_Dressed in a tuxedo..._

_A harmless smile..._

_Reaching out..._

_In his hand lay a small heart..._

_I reached for it..._

_He smirked slyly..._

_And crushed it in his fist..._

_Pain in my chest..._

_I dropped to the floor..._

_Looking up..._

_He walked away..._

_Leaving me here..._

_With no one..._

_Then, the sobs of a violet-eyed angel..._

_Black wings torn..._

_Body littered with scars..._

_Feathers all about..._

_They seemed to melt..._

_Forming a line..._

_It raised itself, opening what seemed to be a hood..._

_An ebony cobra..._

_I smile and gently pet it..._

_It hisses in response..._

_I hold up a wounded wrist..._

_Then I wait for death..._

Screaming, England sat upright in bed. Not exactly a nightmere... but not exactly a pleasent dream either... He looked around the dark room and waited for France to come running, which he didn't. This surprized the britian and he pushed the covers off himself, getting to his feet. Breathing heavy and slightly sore, he tip-toed to the door of his room. Hand on the doorknob, he quietly opened it and stepped into the hall. No wonder France didn't come running. This was Arthur's house. He'd probably picked him up from Russia's and dropped him off here. But why wouldn't he stick around to watch over him? Where had he gone?

Arthur walked down the hallway, breathing back to normal, and decended the stairs, flicking the light switch. No one. He began to grow frustrated and he entered the kitchen, where a slightly pink stain remained from his first discovered cutting incident. Still no one. Now he was a little pissed. He'd cut recently, just gotten raped not to long ago and even more memories of Alfred were in his mind and France wasn't to be seen. Not that he liked the attention, but he'd kind of gotten into the routine of waking to France watching over him and making sure he didn't do anything stupid. He walked into the living room and flicked on the light. There he heard gentle breathing...

England looked over at the couch to find a slumbering Russia. France must've gone out to do something and left Ivan to watch over him then... No wonder he was no where in sight. Of course, said choice of watcher wasn't too bright. The russian was known to be a very heavy sleeper and Arthur's scream wouldn't have stirred him had it been right in his ear.

The britian sat on the edge of the couch, toying a bit with Russia's scarf, before the other nation began to awaken. "Mmmm..." Ivan groaned, rubbing his eyes. "When the fuck did it get so bright..." He looked up at England with half open eyes. "Oh... hi..." Ivan yawned, stretching a bit. Arthur stood just so the russian could stretch his legs to full length. He moaned a bit with grogginess and slowly but surely sat up, giving England room to sit.

And sit he did. The britian plunked down beside Russia, whom was still half asleep. "Mmmm... Good Mornin' you..." Ivan mummbled, ruffling Arthur's hair a bit. England glanced at the clock, which read 1:51am. "Why'd you wake up so early... D'you get a nightmere 'r somethin'..." the russian seemed to ask, his words slurring with grogginess. The britian nodded, skooching closer to Russia. "Mmmm... What happened..." he asked, putting an arm around the blonde. England looked up at Ivan and slightly sighed. He then noticed that the russian just so happened to be blocking one of his favorite paintings. A painting of a raven, with it's wings spread wide.

Arthur's eyes went wide, as if he'd had an epiphiny. "Ivan, stay right there." he demanded, skooching back a bit to get a better view. Russia gave the britian a questioning glance. "Turn a bit to the right." That he did. Ivan faced forward, still wondering what had gotten into Arthur. Russia's body blocked the body of the raven, making it look like he had black wings. Black, torn wings, to be specific...

The next day, the britian was taking a stroll through China Town. Wang Yao was no where to be seen, surprizingly, but there was still a lot of excitment. Crowded streets. Barking salesmen. Shoving costumers. Rapid chinese coming from all directions. You name it. Arthur then got to a large, stationary crowd. The strangest thing was that they were dead silent. He gently moved through to find a group of snake charmers. One charmer looked awfuly familiar...

There was China, locked in what seemed to be a dance with a cobra. A ebony cobra of all things. A look of extreme focus on his face, the asian circled the serpent, whom had raised itself an astonishing 5 feet in the air. England thought he saw Wang's lips moving slightly, as if he were whispering to it. Jus then, the snake relaxed and began to sink to the ground, it's hood retracting. Wang Yao stood deathly still as the serpent slowly winded up his leg and onto his shoulder. Head hanging in the air, the snake looked the asian straight in the eyes, tounge flicking his still lips. Anyone in their right mind would've screamed in ran at that moment, but China just smiled and kissed the cobra on it's head. He then bowed and the crowd cheered, tossing coins of currency into the small snake bag that was laid open before him.

The crowd started to clear away, but the britian remained. He himself had been the one charmed by none other than the snake. The same ebony serpent that had appeared in his dream. China was about to put the large serpent in a much larger bag rather than the small one containing the money when he noticed England. "Igirisu!" he exclaimed, pulling Arthur into a hug. "How've you be-" China stopped himself, remembering about what had happened to the poor britian recently. "D-Don't answer that..." he said, the cobra still curled around his shoulders. England smiled slightly. "It's alright... I see word of it has passed around quickly..." he slightly laughed. Wang's expression slightly brightened. "Yeah... America told me."

" Speaking of Alfred, I heard you two aren't... well..." The asian struggled to find words and resorted to hand motions. "Getting along? Well... I guess you could put it like that... But having France around almost twenty-four seven, I forget him easily... Even when I want to remember him..." China's expression slightly fell. "Then Francis has been doing exactly what I expected." He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "As you know, America's probably not going to disappear anytime soon, so you can't possibly forget him and hope to never see him again. But, with what's been happening, I think forgeting him for the meantime will be the best solution for whatever problems you may be having..." Wang Yao slightly sighed at the britian confused expression. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...

**If you want to have a better life, not constantly interupted by nightmeres and reminders, then you must abandon all memories of him..."**

Only five hours later, Arthur had found out where China kept the ebony cobra. A special shed on his property. A twelve by eight feet shed containing only one snake. Locked. Protected by the creature it contained, which roamed free inside. No cages. No glass. Only a true idiot would venture withen. And here was England, hand on the doorknob, unlocking it. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him. Flicking a light switch, the shed was filled with brightness. And there was the snake, curled into a ball. The inside of the shed was like a mini ecosystem. Plants. Running water. Rocks. Wang must treasure this creature.

The britian ventured toward the creature, like a curious child. In response, the serpent rose to it's famous 5 feet height, hood fullly extended. Arthur stepped closer, his wounded hand reaching out against ihs will. Gently, he pet the cobra, which sent the creature into a series of violent hissing. As if programed to do so, England peeled off the gauze covering his wound and held it out to the great ebony cobra, just like in his dream. His eyes closed and he waited for death...

But it felt something opened his eyes to find the snake flicking his wound with it's tounge, as if to kiss it better. The serpent looked up at him with onyx eyes, no longer hissing, as if to say, 'Don't worry, I won't bite.' Tears slightly pricked in his eyes, but England wiped them away quickly and planted a small kiss on the snake's head, like China had done. "Thank you." he whispered to the creature, returning the gauze to his wrist. The creature relaxed and began to curl around his leg. The britian stood deathly still as the ebony cobra slithered up his body and curled around his shoudlers. "I see you've made friends with Pinganse..."

The voice made Arthur almost leap out of his skin, whipping around to find China standing at the threshold. He expected a sour face and a rant of how he'd been caught red handed, but instead saw a sweet smile. "I noticed how interested you were in her today, thus I thought you might come here to see her. I didn't expect her to take such interest in you, however." Wang stepped closer to the two, petting the serpent. "You like Arthur, don't you, Ping?" the asian seemed to chirp to the cobra. Wang grinned as Pinganse gave him snakey kisses on his cheek. The scene seemed so perfect. So serene...

_So peaceful..._

The two nations, whom were chatting away about the cobra, walked back to England's house, the streets barren and lit by lanterns. Out of nowhere, a gang of five emerged behind them. China glanced at them suspiciously and began to walk faster. Arthur, however, caught a glimpse of them and stopped dead. It was the same gang of five. The same exact frenchies. Wang grabbed him and pulled him forward, ready to break into a run. That's when the tall one spoke.

"Hey look! It's the britian again! I missed you!" His voice floated down the street, causing Arthur to shiver. "How about you and your friend come over here and we can have some fun again!" China gritted his teeth. "I heard asians can be little sluts..." That totally pushed him off the edge. Wang whipped around, shooting a terrifying expression at the tall one. "How about you fuck off, pervert!" The tall one's expressions could be seen now, unlike the first time England had seen him. Auburn bangs fell in his face, almost as long as he was tall. Piercing hazel eyes locked onto the two nations and a sly smirk spread across his broad face. Milky skin was covered by only jeans and a black tee shirt and black Nikes enveloped his feet.

"Fiesty, huh?" He pushed his glistening bangs behind his ears and walked closer. Arthur tugged on Wangs sleeve, as if begging him to go, but the asian stood his ground. "Say that with my fist in your face, I dare you!" Sure enough, China's hands balled into fists, his knuckles going white. The tall one simply smiled and looked over at England. "Could you do me a favor and tell your little friend to shut up, britian?" Wang stepped in front of England, blocking the french's view. "Lay a hand on him and I'll fuckin' kill you..." he growled. The Frenchman stood a mere 5 inches from the asian and grabbed his wrist. "Stop being so pissy and come have some fu-" SLAP.

China smacked the tall one across the face and wrenched out of his grip, stepping back. "England. Run." he commadned. Arthur stayed frozen. until the asian whipped around, snapping at him. "I said run!" The britian slowly stepped back and then turned, racing down the street. The tall one regained his balance and looked down at Wang, a scowl on his face. "That has to be the worst move you've ever made in your life..." He grabbed a chunk of the asian's hair, forcing him to the ground, and held tight. China yelped a bit with shock and pitifully clawed at the man's hand. The tall one then turned to his buddies. "What shall we do to this one?" The group chuckled. Wang knew it would turn out like this, but as long as Arthur was safe...

England stopped in an alley, whipping out his cellphone and dialing a series of numbers. It seemed forever til the person picked up. "Ohayo gozaimasu, you've reached Kiku's home phone. I'm sorry to say that I'm not here right now, please leave a message..." Arthur swore under his breath at the answering machiene. "Japan, please pick up... It's an emerga-" The phone was picked up.

"England? What's wrong?"

"Those guys from the fiasco after the meeting... they're back and they've got China!" Arthur looked around to make sure no one could hear him. He could hear a whisper of _'Oh my god..'_ from the other line and the shuffling of feet.

"Alright, hold on. Lemme get ready..." The sound of metal against metal.

"What the fuck are you getting?"

"My katana, what else?"

"YOU'RE BRINGING YOUR KATANA."

"Just incase they get violent." The sound of a door being wrenched open. Rapid footsteps. Jingling keys. A revving engine.

"Listen, Kiku. I don't mean to bother you from anything-"

"I'm glad you called!"

"-but it was either you or... or..." England bit his lip.

"Who?"

"It was either you or America..." Silence from the other line, just the sound of a car barreling down the street.

"Well, thanks for picking me. I'm pretty America wouldn't be breaking the speed limit if it weren't his brother's life on the line. Anyway, don't hang up, I wanna make sure they don't get you while I'm driving." More car noises. A siren. "AW FUCK!" The sound of swears emittnating from Japan's mouth seemed strange to the britian.

"What's wrong?"

"Fucking cops! I hope they didn't see me..." England held his breath. "Alright, nevermind. It was some other dipshit speeding."

The sounds of distant screaming floated down the street and Arthur cringed. "Just get here quickly."

"What the fuck was that in the backround..?"

"N-Nothing..."

"It sounds like China..."

More screaming. Profanities, insults and demands to stop. "Y-Yeah, it is..." There was silence on the line. The sound of gritting teeth. "You know where I am right?"

"Y-Yeah, my phone can track your signal..." Kiku's voice was straining against rage, threatening to break. Just then, a blue Nissan pulled up outside the alley and Kiku hung up. The door to the car swung open and Japan sat in the driver's seat. "Get in." he called out, gripping the steering wheel tight. England ran down the alley and hopped in the car, shutting the door behind him. He practaclly shivered in the passengers seat as the shorter nation stomped on the gas petal. Rage flickered in his eyes as the screams got louder and louder. The car skreached to a halt when the screams grew the loudest.

Kiku practacly threw the door open and leapt out of the car, katana tied to his belt. He pulled out the blade, looking around for the gang. "Oh look! Another slut!" The tall one stepped out from a dark alley, dragging a beaten China with him. The rest of the gang followed, cheering as they saw Japan and making sexually harrassing statements. The shortest nation growled under his breath and Wang looked up at him, shocked. The Frenchman chuckled a bit and stepped forward, pulling China to his feet. "Come to rescue him? How heroic..." Kiku rushed forward, knocking the man to the ground, and pointing his blade at the man's neck. Wang, whom was wrenched from the tall one's grip, stood and ran to the car, where Arthur shook with fear.

Blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, China tried to calm the shaking britian. "It's alright, I'm fine." He turned, looking in Japan's direction. "BROTHER! LET'S GO!" The shorter asian didn't turn nor did he move. Breathing heavy, he gently sliced the Frenchman's neck a bit. Not enough to kill, just enough to bleed. "BROTHER!" Japan still didn't move. "BRO-" **"JUST WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE!!"** Wang froze at the anger in Kiku's voice, shocked at how enraged he was. The otaku boy glared down at his soon to be victem, a low growl in his throat. "I swear on China's life that if you fuck with me or any of us again, I will _personally_ hunt you down and fucking **kill** you. Got that?" The tall one nodded slightly and Japan turned, rushing to the car...

Back at France's house, the blue-eyed European was fussing over England. The drama had left Arthur speachless and he hadn't talked for a while. Perhaps the memories of the night of the meeting, paired with the things from his dream, had finnaly fried his mind. France sat beside him on the couch, pulling him into a hug, once he was sure he was physically ok. There was silence... "China's alright, if that's why you're so quiet... They didn't hurt him thta bad... Just a few cuts..." Francis assured him. But Arthur still quivered, tears pricking in his eyes. "It's not your fault..." Still, no answer.

The Frenchman held him close, kissing his forehead as usual. This time, he kissed lower. Cheeks. Temples. Nose. Their lips brushed together for a brief second and England slightly drew back. France looked away. "S-Sorry..." he whispered. Arthur, however, cuddled up against him instead of keeping away. He looked up into those blue eyes, smiling. "It's alright." he whispered, laying his head down upon Francis's shoulder. France ran his hand through the other naiton's hair, returning to kissing his forehead. "Hey Fra-" England brought his head up just as the other nation brought his lips down, causing them to kiss. The moment never seemed to end, both their eyes wide with shock, but they broke apart sooner or later. Green eyes met blue. Both closed and the met with another kiss. And another...

**And another...**

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Author's Notes:

First thing, LONG CHAPTER IS LONG.

XD I spent all day on this fuckin' thing!!! It even contains hawt ChinaxJapan lovey time where Japan gets all protective and shiz! Btw, I'm now listening to Vi Sitter I Ventrilo Och Spelar DotA by Basshunter...

I hope you all like Sleepy!Russia, Traumatized!England, Protective!China, FuckingPissed!Japan and Lovaable!France. Next comes Asshole!America.

Again, another chapter containing research. Pinganse means in Chinese (literal translation) Peaceful Serpent. Ping An is peaceful and Se is serpent.

R&R PLZPLZPLZPLZPZLZPLZ I'LL GIVE YOU ALL A COOKIE! And maybe more smexy smexy FrUK in the next chapter...


	10. Step One: Acceptance

AN on the previous chapter:

Alright, I admit it. Chapter 9 was FREAKY. All I had to listen to at my dad's house was emo and scream music, 'kay? So, with no sad music to affect the *boo hoo* moments, I kinda just made really pissed scenes galore.

And I'm also gonna admit to you all that I'm kinda running out of ideas so…. .

This was intended to be a one-shot (now look where it is XD), so I'd only really planned out as far as UK going emo and France trying to help him in my head, sort of like a cliffhanger that'll never continue. But now that it HAS continued… well… my brain is kinda frying…

Anyway, think of the previous chapter as a real crappy filler! 8D I know you all hate fillers but… I'm ravaging my mind for ideas at the moment…. So ENJOY!

PS: **I ONLY THROW FOOD WHEN I'M PISSED!! SO YOU'RE LUCKY!!! ** *takes down wall and hugs* Ty for the translations! I was looking on yahoo in the question section so… I guess safe snake would be better actually… Pinganse is really more safe than peaceful. (She can get pissed but will never attack those she loves or mistake them for the enemy.)

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To summarize the previous night, England had a VERY fun time with France… Sweaty. Lusty. Passionate. You name it. That was defiantly something he'd never forget…

So, Arthur was up and bopping around the kitchen. He seemed a lot cheerful than he was last night. Rather than sulking about what'd happened, he was humming a tune and making breakfast, planning to surprise Francis with the meal. GOD FORBID…

Upstairs, the Frenchman awoke to find himself tangled in blankets. Sitting up and stretching, he smiled in the morning sun, glad he could finally make Arthur forget the American for one night… He got up, slipped on his clothes, fixed his hair and went down stairs. Only for something horrid to reach his nose. OH SHIT. ENGLAND WAS _**COOKING.**_

"Fraaancis~! Good morning~! I made breakfast for you~!" Francis cringed, not wanting to know what nauseating, censor-worthy plate of crap the Britain had made this time.

It was 10:00 am and France was in the bathroom, doing what England did not know. He'd just fed him breakfast and now he heard vomiting noises from beyond the door. "If my cooking sucks that hard, all he had to do was tell me…" the Britain muttered. That's when the phone rang. Curious, Arthur picked it up. "Hello, this is England…" he said, hearing silence from the other line.

"Oh, Arthur. Hi. Is France there? I need to talk with him…" America. England slightly cringed at the sound of his voice, partly from longing and partly because he was trying to follow China's advice. _**Abandon all memories…**_

"He can't talk right now… Maybe you should call back later."

"Alright then…" And he hung up.

Arthur lingered, however, but eventually hung up, thoughts streaming through his head. More memories. That feeling of longing. He shook his head, strolling over to the couch and sitting down. "Every time I even see a PICTURE of him, I get like this…" he muttered to himself. "Why can't I just let go…" He was holding onto his memories instead of taking China's advice. But he couldn't help it.

The Britain stood and got his coat on. "Hey, Francis. I'm gonna go out for a bit. I hope whatever you've got goes away when I get back…" he called out. He heard a muffled 'Alright' from the bathroom and took that as 'You have my permission to leave the household' in Francis speak. A smile on his face, slipped on his boots, which were waiting ever so patiently for him by the door, and left.

The bookstore. A nice quiet place like that always seemed to help him calm down. The endless aisles of pages. Stories. Articles. Non-fiction. All beneath simple covers. Paperback. Hardcover. You name it. Grab a story that seems interesting, get a seat in the café, order some tea and read for hours.

England paced the aisles, looking desperately across the shelves for something that would make him forget of his current situation. Or improve it. He favored the latter, but would take either at the moment. Jus then, he spotted an interesting title. '_**Mend the Broken Heart:**__ Easy Steps to getting Over a Break-Up' _Arthur took it in his hands, reading the author's name. '_Fellicinnotte Vargiotto' _ The book was related to his situation, somewhat. It'd been over a few hundred years since him and Alfred had 'broken up', but he still wasn't over it yet. Maybe this could help…

The Britain backtracked to the café, book in hand. Waiting in the line to the counter, he skimmed the pages. The dedication page. _'For all of you who've been left out in the cold by love…' _How touching… He looked, suddenly realizing that he was next in line. Closing the book, he walked up to the counter, greeted by the café lady. The daughter of the owner. Every one who came to the café regularly referred to her as that. "Good morning, Arthur! Come to get another book? What'd ya get?" she chirped warmly, taking a glance at the title of the book. Her face turned form peppy to worried almost at once.

"Love troubles?" England glanced away, nodding. "You could call it that." Despite the Britain's solemn attitude, the lady's expression turned excitable again like a spring snapping back into position. "So, what'd ya like today, sugah." Arthur looked up again, slightly smiling at her continuous peppiness. "The usual, Earl Grey." The lady smiled and poked him playfully. "You drank the last of it yesterday, ya little glutton!" she giggled. "I can get ya some green tea, if ya don't mind." England shrugged a bit. "Tea is tea." She smiled as punched something into the cash register. "Three twenty, sweetie."

Arthur reached for his pocket, only to remember that the basturd who'd raped him took his wallet as well… The lady reached over, touching his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, hon. Alfred told me what happened. I'll pay for it for you." She whispered. Jesus, how many people had America told?! England was about to protest when she put her hand up, a signal to stop. "I've got enough money in my bank, my pocket could spare some change." And so she took the amount from her wallet and stuck it in the cash register. "There you go, hon. All paid." She smiled. "Now sit down and read that book before I carry you to a chair myself."

Smiling at her kindness and friendly teasing, the Britain left the line to find a seat. A next table by the window was free. He walked to it and sat down, opening the book again. Flipping to the first chapter, he missed the statement that the author's name printed on the cover was merely a pen name.

_Step One: Acceptance_

_The first step to getting over a break up if first accepting that what just happened did happen and is not indeed a dream. This step is usually the hardest and I, myself, had quite a bit of trouble with it._

Arthur slightly sighed, for this part was surely to be the hardest. Some days, he forgot the American Revolution even happened and treated it like a dream. But, if he ever wanted to get over this, he had to do it. Looking around, he did what the rest of the chapter said to do, whispering a small 'oath' if you could call it that.

"_I assure myself that what happened did indeed happen._

_I am no longer in a relationship with Alfred._

_We broke up years ago after the American Revolution._

_Our love may never be salvageable._

_**Thus, I've completed Step One."**_

-------------------------------------------------

AN: Short chapter is short compared to the last one. As for the mystery author, I'm gonna let you guys guess with that one. ;) Here's a hint, take a look at the name.

'_Fellicinnotte Vargiotto' _

Study that name REEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAL hard.

As for the weird last chapter, I apologize again. I think I'm beginning to realize that I'm letting out the stress from my life out into my stories… Basically, custody of me is being juggled between my mother and father. So it's very stressful putting up with my mother's BS and running from Coventry (mom's house) to North Providence (dad's house). In fact, I have a Flash Drive with a folder on it just for this story. I don't save it on their computers. XD Believe it or not.

ANYWAY, R&R. Then listen to Deutschland by Die Prinzen. Even though it's all in German and I can't understand one fucking thing they're saying, it's got a nice tune to it. 8D I always imagine it's Doitsu singing it in my head. XD


	11. Step Two: Why

Arthur had indeed bought the book. Paper back tucked away safely under his arm, the Britain walked home to find the France had left. Maybe he went out to do some errands. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. Slipping off his shoes and hanging up his jacket, he retreated to his room, where he read the next chapter.

_Step Two: Why? How?_

_You may not want to do this, but look back upon your relationship. What had happened that made your love to end? Misunderstandings? No satisfaction? Don't take into account that the break up was 'your fault'. That DEFINATLY isn't the point of this step. This might help you avoid making the same mistakes in the future. _

England dug through his mental filling cabinet, pulling out the 'Alfred' folder. He did recall that the American got irritated quite easily before the Revolution. Maybe it was something he'd done… Then a memory hit him like a ton of bricks.

"_I'm not your ATM machine, Arthur!"_

They'd been fighting over the shipping of goods form the Americas to Europe and England had apparently been insensitive. Sure, he loved the kid a lot back then, but he was also a good source of income for his country. Colonists would buy English tea and other goods. The English would buy tobacco and indigo from the Americans and trade it with the rest of Europe, making them all equally wealthy. However, when matters came to trade, lives didn't come into consideration for Arthur. He often didn't let Alfred have a say in the matter, demanding that he trade this and trade that, give him money and blah blah blah. Maybe it was his fault that the relationship had fallen apart…

He shook his head. He was doing exactly what the book told him not to do. After fruitless searching through memories to find out if he'd done anything else wrong, Arthur decided to break out the picture book one more time. He reached underneath the bed and pulled out the seemingly cursed object, placing it on his lap. He stroked the leather hard cover, reluctant to look at whatever may be inside…

Despite his mental protests, his hand opened the book, flipping plastic page after plastic page. Memories flooded his mind and more mistakes came to him. He'd spent too much time overall with the kid. During the 15 hundreds, he could recalled no time spent with anyone of Europe, except when it was fighting over who got to claim Alfred as their own. Thus, America was like the center of his world. He'd fuss over the child constantly, making him look like a proper Englishman even though he was an American. Losing him meant losing a bit of himself, in a weird, emotional way.

Seeing what he'd done wrong, he could see how Alfred got sick of him. How he demanded that he be free. That he be his own nation and not a colony constantly held down by authority and insensitivity. Now Arthur could slightly understand why Alfred thought that his former harbinger of unfairness now slicing open his skin and sobbing for forgiveness was amusing. It all came to him now.

**And for once in a very, VERY long time, Arthur felt strangely relieved.**

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AN: SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT! *ahem* I tried to write as much as I could in an hour. D8 5 minutes till school and I'm trying to put this up on FFN instead of getting ready. THE SHIT I DO FOR YOU PEOPLE.

Anyway, whoever guesses the identity of the mysterious author wins a free one shot about whatever they want! But just a one shot. … Scratch that. The person who guesses first gets a three chapter story of anything they want. The second to guess gets a two chapter of anything and the third gets a one shot. To not spoil the fun for the other winners, mister/misses First, please PM your answer to me and name the topic 'PB MYSTERY AUTHOR'. The answer really is right in the name, all you have to do is look hard.

'_Fellicinnotte Vargiotto' _

Seriously, this is too easy. XD I'll give you all a huge hint: It's a country in Europe. So rule out Asia, the Americas and Africa. Or as George Bush says: Afri-ikea.

R&R AND DON'T FORGET TO PM WITH AN ANSWER!


	12. Step Three: Avoidance

AN: YOU PEOPLE ARE TOO DAMN SMART!!! I THOUGHT FOR SURE IT'D TAKE A WHILE!!

Anyway, yes. It was North Italy. Wonder why he sounds so smart? CUZ WE HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO THE SILLY PARTS YET!! HA! I'M GONNA MAKE YOU ALL WAIT FOR BEING SO SMART! *evil laughter*

*ahem* The first person who got it (AND DID IT RIGHT, BY PMING ME) is the extremly lucky GothicGal8541. You now win a three chapter fic of your choice! More FrUK? Sure. Smut? Sure. USUK? Sure. ANYTHING. ALRIGHT. So send another PM if you wish not to spoil anything for anyone. If you want the world to know, send me the idea in a reveiw.

NOW CELEBRATE FOR BEING SO SMART, YOU BRANIACS.

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_Step Three: Avoidance_

_Even if you and your ex are currently friends, at this point, you must severe yourself completely from him or her. Try to make as little contact with your ex as possible, thus destroying most but not all chances of uncomforable encounters or unwanted memories. If you don't sucessfully keep apart, then you may very well feel hurt forever._

The rest of the chapter contained tips on how to avoid one's ex. All the advice would make avoiding a normal person as easy and simple as breathing. Key word being normal. Avoiding Alfred was an entirely different situation. American's, as stereotyped, were all over the place. Wide spread area of friends. A bunch of energy, especially in those warmer seasons. Trying to avoid an American was like trying to shoot an acorn of a branch with an arrow that never hit it's mark. Trying to avoid Alfred was like trying to shoot said acorn off said branch with said arrow with your hands tied behind your back, gagged and blindfolded. Now can you see Arthur's distress?

England was out running errands, alone. A half full shopping cart. Strolling almost carefree down the aisles. That's when he caught a glimpse of auburn hair. He whipped around toward the flash of color, suddenly remembering the night of the meeting. Assuming he's just seen things, Arthur turned and went about his bisiness. Another glimpse. Calmly, he walked from the aisle and into another one. On the inside, he was freaking out. Heart beating so fast he'd reached 20 beats in 4 seconds. Between Alfred and the rapist, he was going to worry himself to death. "It can't be him..." the britain thought to himself. "Kiku warned him not to mess around with either me or China... He'd have to be a fucking idiot to not think that Japan couldn't mortally wound him at the very least..."

Another glint of color nearby. Arthur slightly painiced, thinking that the man had come back for him. The object of his attention turned the corner into the aisle and he awaited a perverted smile, followed by piercing eyes. However, he saw someone totally different.

Fellicianno.

The peppy Italian energeticly bopped down the aisle, grabbing a few boxs of pasta and dropping them into the basket hanging on his left arm. Feeling extremly embarassed that he could mistake the harmless country for something more sinister, England turned and continued his shopping. The spices aisle. Cloves, basil, cinnomen. All tossed into the cart. Three items on his shopping list crossed off. "Veeeee~" Arthur sighed. Not him again. Despite the fact that he could probably kick the shit out of poor Italy, the color his hair brought back horrid memories. He looked over to see Fellicianno reach for some type of seasoning, though it was too far away for England to read properly. The britains gaze must've singed the italian's skin, for he slightly jumped back. "E-England!" he said with a slightly shaky voice, looking over at the other nation. "Ciao!" Arthur slightly smiled. "Hi..."

"So... how've you been?" England hesitated. "Just to let you know, pretty much everyone knows what happened after the last meeting."

"Let me guess, Alfred told you all." Fellicianno seemed to cringe at the venom in Arthur's voice.

"Not me. I assume Alfred started it all, but I origianlly heard it from Lovino... I think he might've heard it through Spain who'd heard it from Greece and... well, you get the picture." Another long pause...

"Speaking of you and Alfred, there's been rumors that things are... well... not so great..." the italian seemed hesitant, as if another word would tip the britain over the edge. Arthur slightly sighed. "So word of that has gotten around as well..." Italy looked as if he shouldn't have said a word. "Don't worry, I just can't believe he'd told everyone without even asking if it was ok..." England scowled at the thought of Alfred doing so. Felli calmed slightly. "Wanna talk about it or..." Not exactly a whisper, but the italian kept his voice down, as if to respect the tension and emotional aspect of the situation. The britain grinned. "If I don't talk about it to someone other than France soon, I might explode." A smiled spread across the italains face. "Alright then. Any specific time you might be free after errands?"

"Around four thirty sounds good." A caring look now appeared on Fellicianno's face.

"Va bene. Quattro e mezzo di sera. My place. For the sake of privacy, I'll be sure my brother wll be out with Spain or doing something else..."

**Thus, they then went their separate ways...**

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AN: WEWT. ANOTHER ONE IN.

Poor Arthur got all worried again... He has a nervous disorder, I swear to god.

Italian Translations: (in school, I take Italian. so i'm pretty damn sure these are acurate)

Ciao-Hello (of course)

Va bene-Ok/Alright

Quattro e mezzo di sera- Four thrity pm (literally- four and half of evening)


	13. IMPORTANT NOTICE! PLEASE READ!

[**EXTREMLY IMPORTANT NOTICE! PLEASE READ!]**

Ok, you guys are probably gonna be pissed when you relize this is not a chapter. HOWEVER, it has a purpose.

Tomarrow, for three days, I'm going to Washington DC. Yes, Alfred's heart. He probably won't like it that I'm running around in his internal organs all sugar high but...

ANYWAY, I won't be able to upload for a few days. Just in case if you wonder tomarrow 'WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS BITCH! IT ONLY TAKES HER TWO DAYS TO UPDATE!!! _**AAAAAAAARGH!' **_and so on...

SO DON'T YELL AT ME!!!! *sobs*

Anyway, *ahem* WHO'S SEEN EPISODE 37!!! 8D Now I can ship Gerussia to my heart's content and my friends can't bitch that they haven't met eachother CUZ NOW THEY'RE FRIENDS! HA!

So I just thought I'd let you guys know about my trip...

Alfred: WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME??!!

STFU WILL YOU!!! GAWD!!! YOUR THE NEEDIEST COUNTRY I'VE EVER MET!

Arthur: Tell em about it... *remembers Colony!America, hesitates, goes off to cut self*

Alfred: ;-; Boy, I feel loved.

WELL YOU SHOULD.

**[END OF APPARENTLY EXTREMLY IMPORTANT NOTICE! PLEASE STOP READING!]**

**[I'M SERIOUS!]**

**[QUIT IT!]**

_**[I SAID QUIT IT YOU SON OF A BI-**_


	14. Step Four: New Stuff

AN: BACK FROM DC! 8D

GODAMN WAS THAT PLACE FUN!

Poor Alfred must be sick and tired of me right about now…

America: YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I AM!!

STFU YOU!!

*choking noises*

Btw, I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING IN A WHILE!!! I'll explain and apologize some more below…

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Sitting at home, a wave of sudden sadness swept over Arthur. With the book in his hands and clock at 3:57, He began to read another chapter, as if it could chase away his woes.

_Step Four: Time for the New Stuff_

_It's about time you starting REALLY getting over your ex. Enough with the bad memories and correcting your mistakes. You're hurting here and it needs to stop now! (Aren't I SO empowering?)_

_Go out and meet some people. Get new friends. Or hang out with old ones. Throw a pity party! (They've always worked for me!) Get out of that stuffed up house of yours! You can never get over someone by sitting around and crying. That'll just make it worse. Get out there Mr./Ms Popular! Go find a good crowd of friends!! (Maybe go eat some pasta with them!!)_

England skimmed over the rest of the chapter, a solemn look upon his face. Closing the book, he looked around the room, noticing how stuffed up his house really was. He stood, putting on his shoes and jacket and went downstairs. He glanced at the clock and saw that it read 4:26. "Aw shit! I'm gonna be late!" he cried with shock to no one in particular as he rushed out the door.

In the house of Vargas, Feliciano waited. It was 4:28, so England should arrive soon. Leaning on the doorway leading to the dining room, he watched the steam from the pasta he'd made float up into the air, swirling like smoke. "I'm leaving for Spain's place now. Ci vediamo, frattello." He heard Lovino call from the other room. "A dopo…" he replied, listening for the shutting of the door. After South Italy had left, the house was filled with silence.

Just then, Italy heard someone knocking. Standing straight, he cleared the length of the front room in 3 seconds and opened the door. There stood England slightly breathing heavy. "Ciao, I was wondering when you'd be here!" Feliciano greeted warmly, stepping aside. Arthur entered the house and smiled, hanging his coat up on the hanger by the door.

Italy seemed to guide UK to the dining room. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Quite, I left so late that I didn't get to eat." Arthur slightly laughed. "Well good, cause I made some pasta for us!" An almost heavenly scent seemed to smack England right in the face once he entered the dining room. He stopped dead and sniffed the air, glancing at the steaming plates. "Goddamn Italy, what did you cook? The dinner of god himself?!" Both smiled brightly and Feliciano seemed to giggle a bit as he sat down at the table before one of the two plates of pasta. "You could call it that…" The Britain sat down as well, getting hungrier when he saw the delicious food up close.

Raising his almost full wine glass, Feliciano smiled. "Buon appetite." The gentle clinking of glasses was heard and, almost immediately, they dug in. "Soooo…" The Italian seemed to drag out to 'o' for emphasis. England looked up. "Ah… yes…" He slightly sighed. "Lately, I've been trying to stay away from Alfred, since things have been getting worse…" Italy seemed happy that he did so. "Well that's a step in the right direction. Who told you to do that?"

Arthur paused. "I was looking around the library one day-" he reached in his outfit's shirt pocket and pulled out the small book "-and I found this." He handed it to Feliciano and the Italian looked it over. His eyes widened a bit when he saw the name of the author. "What?" The Britain's voice seemed worried. "I-I'm fine…" Italy handed him the book. England glanced at the cover again, wishing to know what could make the other nation so surprised. "What's wrong with it?" Italy seemed defensive after that comment. "Nothing! It's a great book! I never thought you'd find it… that's all…" The was a moment of silence.

"You know, no one knows who the author's real name is…" Feliciano finally said. England raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was his real name?" He pointed to the cover, where _'Felicianotte Vargiotto'_ was printed in a fancy font. Italy shook his head. "On the Author's Page, it says that it's a pen name…" Arthur opened the book again, this time focusing on the Author's Page. "I guess I missed that bit…" He quickly reread the page, soon closing the book and getting back to dinner.

"So, who do you think he really is?" The brunette nation seemed secretly giddy, as if he was dying to hear England's guess. The blonde paused. "I don't know… um… One of those southern Europe nations obsessed with women?" Italy rolled his eyes. "Well, that's narrowing it down…" His statement dripped with sarcasm.

UK smirked, his competitive spirit getting the best of him. The way he was setting things up, it was like Italy WANTED him to try and get it right. To think hard about it. He leaned back in his chair. "Hmmm… France? I'm sure he's seen tons of break-ups in his life…" The brunette shook his head. "France is too busy chasing women… and possibly men… Why would he write something like that?" Feliciano leaned in closer. "But you're getting warmer." he said with a smirk.

The blonde leaned closer as well, slightly smirking. "Austria?" Italy shook his head again. "Do you know the author's name?" England asked suspiciously. Feliciano shrugged. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't." Basically, 'I'm not telling you, ha ha' in North Italy talk. "Keep guessing."

"Hungary?"

"Pfft! No!!"

"Spain?"

"He only wishes."

"Romano?"

A hack snort emitted from Italy and he chuckled. "Once again, no. But your super close." They were so close, their noses almost touched, elbows resting on the table.

"Wait, it was y-" There was a knock on the door and the brunette glanced in the front room, which could be seen easily from the dining room. "Hold on for just a second…" The Italian stood and left the room, heading for the door. England looked back down at the book, tracing the author's name with his finger. So it'd been Feliciano. He was the one who'd been giving him tips through the gift of writing. He heard the door open. Greetings. The whispering.

Arthur caught a glimpse of his bare wrist, ugly scars stretching across it like dried up rivers on a plain. He gently traced them with his pinky, nail rubbing against the scar tissue. Footsteps. He looked up to find Italy in the doorway. "France is here… He was looking for you…" he said, as if what he said was bad news.

England stood, shuffling into the front room where a seemingly worried France stood. "There you are!" Francis said, scowling. UK raised an eyebrow. "I thought I told you I'd be here?" France paused. "I thought you said you'd be running errands or something like that… Anyway, it's 7:30 so... I kind of got a little worried… that's all…" Italy froze. "Wait… It's WHAT time???" He glanced up at the clock before France could say a word. "Damnit! I'm gonna be late for that date with Germany!!!" He was about to run out of the front room when he paused, turning to England. "S-Sorry, but um…" Arthur waved him off. "It's alright, I understand."

The Italian seemed to leap over the five feet distance between one another and hugged him tight. "Thanks! I've gotta go get ready! Arrivederci!!" he chirped before running of to his room. The Britain smiled and grabbed his coat, shooting France a look between being annoyed and amusement. "Well? Shouldn't we get going?"

Later, down the street they walked. Arms linked. Hands together. The night sky hung overhead. Stars twinkling. Like a real life Sistine Chapel before Michelangelo got a hold of it… Strangely, the street was empty. "Damn, I've never seen a street this empty since…" England trailed off, memories flooding his mind. The empty street. The dark alley. The group of five. He shook his head slightly, as if all the bad things would just fly out of his ears. France frowned, knowing damn well what Arthur's was thinking about. "Don't worry, one more block until we get to my place. It's not that far."

Still, the shorter nation was still uneasy. He looked up, seeing a familiar street sign. Then that same dark alley. He huddled closer to France, shaking slightly. Trying to forget about the incident, England caught a glimpse of auburn in his side vision. Stopping dead and whipping toward the unknown color, he almost pulled France to the ground. Heart beating out of his chest, all he saw was a neon sign in the window of a shop. It was a reddish orange, so one could understand why he thought it to be auburn. "Arthur!" France cried out as he stumbled a bit. "What the hell!" Once he saw those wide green eyes, the French man felt a pang of sympathy. "Oh… yeah…"

He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "It's alright. He's not here." England felt tears prink in his eyes as flashbacks from that night filled his mind. "Let's get out of here…" he whimpered, digging his face into France's coat. "Ok. Come on." Francis took his love's hand and guided him away from the alley.

Back at France's house, the two sat upon the couch, cuddling. Arthur still couldn't get the flashbacks out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. Gently kissing the other nation, he tried to focus on the moment. However, Francis then , very gently, grabbed England's wrist and placed his other hand on the britain's inner thigh.

UK's eyes went widen with shock. The same thing the one with the auburn hair had done. A groping, tight touch. He let out a shrill yelp and leapt back a bit, shivering with fear. Confused, France reached for him. "Igirisu! What's wrong!?" England huddled on one end of the couch, staring at the floor as the entire scene from the night of the rape played back in his head.

Realizing what he'd done, France gained a look between horror and embarrassment. He scooted over to Arthur and held him close, kissing his clammy forehead. "Oh sweetie!" Francis felt ashamed that he'd triggered all those memories and tried to make up for it by showering the Britain with love.

"**I'm so sorry!!"**

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AN: Once again, I'm so sorry for making you all wait for this next update!

Between school and my mother, I hardly have time for anything else! So…

PLEASEFORGIVEIFYOUCANWHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! *cries*

Ahem, anyway. Did you know that, before Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, it was dark blue and decorated with stars???

Italian translations:

Buon Appetite- good appetite (basically, Italian version of Bon appétit)

Arrivederci-(pronounced a-ri-veh-der-chi)Goodbye (informal)

The formal version of that would be ArrivederLa (a-ri-ve-der-lah). :3


	15. I Still Love You

AN: _ Ok, before you go reading this, I have to tell you that I'm mighty pissed. My best headphones are breaking… The wire split and I tried fixing it, but I just made it worse. So I unfixed it (word?) and every time I turn to the right, it fucks up. Anyway, that might effect my writing. Emotions and music effect it a lot. Hence why I always bring up my YouTube page and play my favorites as I write.

Music I've written to last chapter:

Melody From Heaven-DJ Contacreast

Buono Tomato(Romano's Song)-APH Soundtrack

The Sea-DJ Contacreast

All The Things She Said-Tatu (A Russian band! 8D)

In The Silence-DJ Contacreast

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_Flashes of auburn _

_Every where he turned_

_Fear shot through him_

_When he saw the tall one again_

_He tried to flee_

_But someone held him back_

_Groping hands_

_Tearing off his clothes_

_He screamed for help_

_Tears welling up in his eyes_

'_Not again…'_

_He'd thought_

'_Oh god… Please not again…"_

_A rough touch_

_Greedy hands_

_Vital regions violated once more_

_He felt horrible_

_If only he'd been stronger_

_He could've pulled out of the grip_

_If only he'd been faster_

_He could've gotten away before they found him_

_A flash of blonde_

_And those around him dropped to the ground_

_He froze with fear_

_As blue eyes stared down at him_

_For there stood something he'd never imagined_

_His savior_

_Body split down the middle from features_

_One side French_

_The other_

_American_

England woke suddenly. Looking around, all he saw was the darkness. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

**4:03 am**

Arthur huffed slightly. So early, yet the dream had scared him so much that he was no longer tired. Why it scared him, he had no idea. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his eyes and yawned a bit, pushing himself to his feet. The Britain pulled up the window shade, casting moonlight around the room. France was still slumbering away, obviously unnerved by England's distress. Slight snores emanated from him and Arthur softly chuckled.

Turning to the dresser, he paused. '_Well… I'm wide awake, aren't I?' _Shrugging to himself, he crossed over the carpet and pulled out an outfit. Green knitted wool shirt. High collar. Buttoned cuffs. Black pants. Crisp and ironed. He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Sneaking down the stairs, slipping across the wood floor. He glanced out the window at the cloudless night sky. Flashes of his dreams zipped through his mind and he sighed, walking over to the coat hanger. Under it were his shoes, black and shiny. Arthur bent down and pulled them on, tying them tight. Pulling on his black coat, England quietly opened the door and slipped out into the night.

A little ways on, the Britain didn't realize he was on the street of the alley… He also didn't know that there was a gang lurking nearby… Filling his lungs with the crisp, autumn air, England cracked a smile. He'd never walked during the night by himself since the night of the rape. It was nice that he could look up at the stars without having to be chaperoned. He then heard footsteps.

Whipping around, he saw the gang of five as drunk as ever. _'DAMNIT!'_ he swore to himself. _'I knew I shouldn't have come out here!!'_ Backing away, the drunken wolf whistles echoed down the street. Drunken slurs and swears. Harassing comments. He turned and ran. He heard one of them scream "Get him!" and he was soon being chased. Someone grabbed his arm and he panicked, screaming with fright. "LET GO OF ME, YOU DRUNK FUCK!" he cried with frustration, kicking furiously at whoever had their hold on him. The group caught up with him and held him down as their leader stood tall. "It's good to see you again, love!" he said, swaying slightly. Arthur grimaced. "I really hoped that the next time I saw you, you'd be dead." He spat. The tall one flinched. "Ooh. Ouch. That hurt." He whined with fake pain.

He kneeled down in a flash, groping those vital regions again with that same tight, rough grip. England let out a squeak of shock, shaking slightly from fear. "Aaaah! N-No! Not again!" he seemed to plead, trying to pull away. The auburn haired one smiled. "Not so tough now, huh?" Tighter.

"Gaaaah! Oh god! Please not again!"

His pleads were hopeless. Each cry he made turned the gang on even more. It was inevitable. History would soon repeat itself.

_Unless his dream was correct…_

"YO, ASSWIPE! PISS OFF!"

The gang turned to see a clearly pissed America cracking his knuckles. Face contorted with rage, England drew back a bit, having never seen him this angry. "Did you not hear me?" he merely whispered through his teeth. The american then stepped forward, fist clenched, and his voice reached a high decibel range. "PISS. OFF." The tall one and a couple others from the gang stood, while the others brought England to his feet and held him aside. He tugged a bit at their grip, edgeing toward the other blonde. "Don't mess with them, Alfred! They're stronger than you think!" he cried, wishing for the american to get as far away as possible. Alfred seemed to glare at him. "I'm stronger than you think, as well." England's voice was now a whisper. "Please, Alfred..." He hung his head slightly with guilt, blaming himself that America was now entwined in this mess. "It's my fault... I shouldn't have left the house... I should face the consequences..." Knees shaking. A tiny pleading voice. The blue eyed one now looked upon him with simpathy. "Don't ever blame yourself for things you didn't cause..." Was his gentle reply. So soothing. So... peaceful...

"It's these basturds who caused it!" In a flash of movement, a gang member two times Alfred's size dropped to the ground. "They should face the consequences!" Another punch. The smaller one fell. "DON'T YOU EVER-" One of the members leapt on America, trying to pull him to the ground. _"-BLAME-" _He intentionally dropped to the ground, facing up, and crushed the drunk underneath him. _**"-YOURSELF!!"**_ Alfred leapt to his feet and leapt at the tall one, who was a good foot taller than him. Both of them hit the ground and proceeded to wreastle with eachother, like a pair of furious wolves. Finally, America straddled the man and began to beat his face in, landing punch after punch. The two drunkards holding onto England got nervous and afraid, backing away at the sight of their master being defeated. A spray of blood shot into the air, a sign of the tall one's broken nose, and that set them off. They fled, but not without their prize...

The tallest of the two slung England over his should and ran like hell in the other direction. Niether looked back to make sure America was following or not. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! AMERICA!" England screached, holding onto the man's shirt for dear life. Surely, Arthur would've tried to fight back. But he was now being hauled over a stranger's shoulder, being carried into the night, having his former love beat the shit out of his rapist and not knowing what would happen to him if America didn't save him. The country of Britain was not in his right mind as of now. Still terrified of his captors, it wasen't until Alfred looked up and disappered from sight as the men turned a corner that England fought back. He kicked furiously, pounding at the man's back with clentched fists. "PUT ME DOWN! GODDAMNIT, PUT ME DOWN!!!" Yet nothing phased him. Frustrated, Arthur decided to resort to more barbaric tactics.

UK forced the man's head to the right, knocking him of course and causing him to teter. Using his hand, he located the softest part of the man's neck and bit down as hard as he could. His captor screamed with pain and dropped to the ground. England didn't stop til the death clutch on him was released and he pushed away, shocked when he tasted a bit of blood. The man writhed about on the ground, trying to nurse his wound, and Arthur broke into a dead run. Taking a turn, he ran into Alfred, litterally.

Smacking into eachother, both were pushed back from the force and hit the ground. The britain landed on his bad arm, bringing a shooting pain. The american landed on his butt, boucing a bit on the pavement. He giggled a bit, smiled. However, his expression changed immediatly when he saw England curled up in pain. "Igirisu! Are you alright!" he cried, gathering the lump of pain into his arms. "I-I'm fine... I'll live..." he said, subconciously cuddling closer to America. They sat there for a few miuntes. Breathing. Watching. Together. A moment that shouldn't end.

England then pushed to his feet, helping up America. "We should get going. The middle of the sidewalk usually isen't the best place to cuddle..." Alfred held onto Arthur's hand a bit too long, getting a strange look from the britain. He looked away, letting his hand drop to his side. "Sorry." UK began to walk off. "Wait." He stopped, turning to the other blonde. "Wanna go back to my place?" Arthur paused, staring at him as if he'd asking him to go do drugs together. "W-What." It was more of a statement than a question. America sighed. "Would you like to travel back to my domain while accompanied by muah." At the word 'muah', Alfred pointed to himself, while using that smartass tone of voice americans were well known for. There was a moment of silence. "Sure. Why not." America seemed shocked, as if he didn't believe the response. He smiled, taking England's hand. Together, they walked off into the night...

The door shut gently and the hung their coats. The lights flicked on and the room was brightened immensly. The scene was solemn, but hesitant. As if one wanted to act, yet was scared of the concequences. England had just finished hiding his shoes under the coat rack like he'd do at France's house, a weird habit he'd grown to have, and stood, turning. Suddenly, his lips meet America's and he did what his first instinct always told him to do. Push away. Yet the american held fast, pulling him closer in fact. Hesitantly, Arthur reached up, grabbing Alfred's shoulders, and leaned into the kiss. As much as he tried to get over him, UK couldn't resist a kiss. Each taste made him crave more. He moaned slightly, enjoying it.

Finally, England came to his senses. He pushed away, breaking the kiss, but stayed close enough to feel the american's breath tickle his lips. "Alfred...?" His silence spoke many words to America. "I'm sorry, Arthur. France has been trying to keep me away from you for some time now and... I..." He searched for words. "I just missed you, alright... I just..." Alfred seemed to want to say more, but didn't know how to word it. Arthur waited for his explaination, but was instead pushed gently into the wall. Startled, he tried to get out of the other's grip, becoming slightly panicked. "A-America!!" he cried with shock. The other blonde closed the gap between them, kissing the britain quickly before say what he had to say. "Igirisu..." Alfred's moving lips tickled Arthur's, causing both of them to heat up.

**"I still love you..."**

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AN: O3O

Enjoy the USUK!!! I'm surprized I wrote with such a short supply of sad/angry/lusty/romantic/happy songs!

Listening to at the moment: Can't Stop The Rain-Cascada

Anyway, Pissed!America was fun to write. 8D Very fun. I'm guessing that creepy tall dude is dead... I haven't decided yet, but he won't be making any comebacks anytime soon... Enjoy the smut! *cheers, fangasims, dies*

*flies down as an angel* Damn... Can angels type???

**PS:** For all you artists out there! You don't have to buuuuut... I'd like you all to draw your favorite scene from this story so far! It can be any part! Any part at all! Just draw SOMETHIIIIIIIIING!!! *ahem* When it's finished, I'd like you to please PM me a link, for I'd be interested in seeing it. If it's on DeviantArt, that'd be great! My DA username is CountDimentio so... you can find me there. GETTING BACK ON TOPIC, like I said, any scene. Even if the pic sucks, a drawing is a drawing. I'll still love it. Those who draw fight scenes and romantic scenes will get lots of love and fanspazisms from me...


	16. Who's It Gonna Be?

AN: DAMN, YOU GUYS SEEM TO LIKE THIS FIC!!!

Sadly, I've been getting the dreaded Writer's Block so… the updates might be slow.

Enjoy!

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Squirming, part of England wasn't particularly enjoying this…

Kiss after kiss, another part of him yearned for more. Yet, after all those days of trying to forget, he just couldn't bring himself to fully enjoy this. If only Alfred had told him that he still cared. He wouldn't have hooked up with France…

Now shirtless…

If they did indeed go all the way, he couldn't let the Frenchman find out. Both his relationship and his life would be threatened. Francis was known to be wicked when cheated upon. Revenge would be immanent. But, if he stopped right about now, it would be America's life on the line… Either way, no matter how far they went, if France found out, someone would be hurt. So many choices. Have France hate the both of them to death for going all the way and having America love him for doing so or have France love him but hate Alfred for trying to go all the way and have the American hate him for not doing so… Either way, the two would hate eachother. England would just be stuck in the middle… So many choices. They made his brain hurt…

Suddenly, just as Alfred grabbed Arthur's wrists and pinned them up against the wall, the door opened. And standing in the threshold, glaring dangerously at America, was none other than France. If this was a TV show, the audience would most likely be going 'OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH SHIT' at this point. Alfred turned, still gripping England, and glared just as dangerously back. It seemed like forever that they stared…

The american finally let go of him and stepped toward the french man. He opened his mouth to say something, but it never got out. France slugged Alfred square in the face, clentching his fist so tightly that his knuckles went white. America stumbbled a bit before falling to the ground from the shear force of the blow. Francis towered over him threateningly. "ORDURE!" he growled. "You dare force him to do such things even after all he's been through!?! You sicken me!" Gritting he teeth slightly, he glared down at the other man. America sat up, also glaring. "He was enjoying it before you came in!" Whether he did it to piss of the french man even more or because he had a death wish, the comment definatly rooted itself in Francis's mind. Hands on his hips, he rolled his eyes. "Ce sont des conneries!" His voice was tainted with rage, but he seemed to be holding back. Alfred shuffled to his feet.

"In fact, I think he wanted to go even further..."

"FERME TA GUEULE!"

"You know... We could still continue and you could watch..."

"VA TE FAIRE VOIR!!"

England stood by helplessly as the two threw insult after insult. Finally, he could take no more. "Guys! S-Stop it! Stop fighting!" He must've been loud, for both of them were now staring right at him, both slightly shocked. He calmed his voice, now sounding similar to Canada. "P-Please... I hate to see you two argue... especially over me..." Now simpathetic and loving, France seemed to slip up next to England like a shadow, helping the other nation put his shirt back on. "Alright... I'll stop then..." he whispered to him, although reluctantly. "If you'd just accepted your love for me and dumped France, Igirisu, we wouldn't be in this mess..." Alfred seemed to smile as France slightly cringed. The french man's grip was locked on England's sleeve and was getting tighter.

Arthur glaced at him and noticed he was biting down on his lower lip, clearly holding back. "We'd live happily ever after..." America paused, as if to savior the thought, and then proceeded to 'case the joint', stalking around the room. Near France, he'd speak his insults with such venom. "...And none of this would've happened! Your little team, you and France, would never exsi-" "Alright, Alfred! That's enough!" England seemed to scold. They both looked at him now. Alfred spoke up. "Well, you can't stop me from dreaming... And it's not like you can be with both of us... You know damn well that's not gonna go over too well..." France turned to him. "You're damn right it's not gonna go over too well!" With America's silence, they turned back to the britain. "Well, England. Who's it gonna be?"

**THE END**

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AN: Yeah, I can tell you all hate me right about now... No updates in weeks and THIS is how it ends. Don't you just wanna give me a great big HUUUUUUG? :D *opens arms* No? *sadface* Pft, fine then. Don't love me...

Translations: (warning, bad words not meant for children are listed below)

French:

Ordure-Basturd

Ce sont des conneries-That's a load of shit

Ferme ta gueule-Shut your mouth

Va te faire voir-Go to hell/F*&^ off

*sigh* I love it when France gets pissy and swears... It's so hawt...

Anyway, R&R on these really crappy plothole-ish ending!


	17. FrUK Ending

AN: Due to the persuasion of the masses, I've decided to do two separate endings. One for FrUK fans and one for USUK fans.

To tell the truth, I prefer FrUK. ;) USUK is hawt, don't get me wrong on that, but FrUK… *nosebleed, faint, die*

*angel* _ Fuck, not again…

* * *

Emerald eyes shifted it's gaze from one nation to the other, seeming to stall his decision. Alfred stepped closer. "Are you gonna choose or not?!" he seemed to snap. England seemed to flinch, drawing back after the comment. Francis glared at the other blue-eyed blonde. "Give him time to think, America! He's only choosing who's he's probably going to spend the rest of his life with!" Azure eyes glared at each other for what seemed like forever.

The Britain turned to Alfred, eyes glazed over passively. "America…" he started. The younger nation perked up- "I'm sorry but…" –and his expression fell as fast as it had appeared. Arthur saw his sorrow clearly and paused. Francis looked between the two, sensing great tension. "Don't take it the wrong way, please! I'll always love you, Alfred…" England moved closer to the astounded nation. "You'll always have a place in my heart no one else can take! It's just… I love you like a brother now… I'm sorry…" More silence…

The American remained still for what seemed like forever. "A-Alright…" His voice was barely a whisper, still taken aback. He turned and left the room, leaving Arthur to wallow in guilt. There was even more silence. Francis finally wrapped his arms around England, pulling him into a hug, and kissed him…

**Epilogue-**

A gentle breeze blew through the garden, rustling the rose bushes. Rose petals blew off across the lawn, a wave of colors. On his knees, hands clad with gardening gloves, England casually yanked those pesky weeds up from around the roots of his precious rose bushes. Of couple of red petals found themselves tangled within his hair and he paused to release them, smiling. He threw the shriveled, leafy corpses of weeds to the side like fertilizer and looked over his work. Thistles peaked out from beneath daffodils, which were to the side of the bushes. To accent the bursts of color, shamrock plants seemed to be sprinkled throughout the garden, adding a Scottish touch. Everyday, he'd scour them for a four-leaf clover, as his brother promised there would be. Gifts from his northern sibling and blessed with white magic, it was destined the plants would bear a four-leafer every ten years. So far, he'd found only four form the lovely plants.

Arthur stood and brushed the dirt from his knees, removing the gloves. On his left ring finger, a diamond ring sparkled in the bright sunlight. His right hand lifted to brush his hair from his face, but instead stopped at the necklace he wore. England looked down at it, a stainless steel square upon a silver chain. Upon the square was etched, 'Dans tes bras c'est mon destin-F'. He smiled and traced the letters with his finger. "I can't believe I forgot to take this off before I went outside…" Arthur muttered to himself.

He then heard giggling and looked to his right. Chasing eachother down the street were none other than America and Canada, seeming to be in a tickle fight. Alfred caught up with Matthew and leapt on him, holding him tight. The poor Canadian tripped and fell under the weight of the American. In a tangled mess, Alfred proceeded to tickle poor Canada mercilessly. Somehow, they transitioned from giggling to making-out. How that transition came, Arthur had no idea. None the less, he chuckled at their antics and retreated inside, leaving the two to kiss in peace.

**THE REAL END**

AN: OK, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I'M SERIOUS.

But DAMN if it's not uber… Yes, this is the FrUK ending. England and France ended up getting married and America and Canada are now together. Yes, I'm a secret Americest fangirl… DEAL WITH IT.

French-

Dans tes bras c'est mon destin- My destiny is in Your arms

ENJOY.


End file.
